Angela
by thesilentlamb
Summary: Peter Pevensie is now an adult, and bored with his normal life in our world, when he and his secretary are taken to Narnia. Why have they been sent there, and what is their purpose? Rated K for very mild bad language and possible future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**I know this has been done hundreds of times before - other character goes into Narnia etc. but this story has been in my head since I was a kid so I'm finally writing it down.**

**Peter Pevensie is now in his early 20s and hasn't been back to Narnia since the events of Prince Caspian. Events are canon up until the beginning of The Silver Chair which is where this story picks up - Caspian has sailed off, Narnia is without a King as Prince Rilian is still missing (and for the purposes of this story, will not be coming back!). NB I'm assuming that Peter was 13ish at the beginning of the war, so that would set this somewhere around 1950 - I know there would have been women working in 1950, but my research hasn't gone any further than that!!**

**_A few (Narnian) years after'The Magicians Nephew'......._**

In the Wood between the Worlds, all was still, save for a lone guinea pig who nibbled at the lush grass. There were no other animals here; no movement, no wind. He was nearing the end of his natural life and had found he didn't mind the isolation.

This was a night like any other, calm, peaceful – until a sudden movement caught his attention. He raised his head, sniffing at the air and was startled as a figure came near. Hooded and cloaked, the figure moved through the Wood, making barely a sound as it wound its way through the forest. The figure walked upright but as it passed the guinea pig thought he heard the soft sound of a hoof hitting the ground. He froze as it came near but the figure passed without so much a glance in his direction. It was carrying something large and obviously heavy, and wrapped in the folds of its cloak, it caused the wraith to stoop.

The trees here were identical, the pools all alike, but the figure moved with intent. Pausing suddenly at the side of a pool, it looked back over its shoulder, before jumping into the water and disappearing from view.

The guinea pig waited, but there was no more movement. All was still again, but he moved off, choosing to find a different part of the Wood to spend his night.

**_London, 1950_**

Peter Pevensie sighed and glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that morning before looking back to the papers that littered his desk. This had once been the limit of his ambition – a good job, a desk of his own, a regular wage that he could save to buy a house. Then later, a wife and children and somewhere, in the distant future, a comfortable retirement. Now he felt that that dream was so hopelessly and utterly mundane it almost drove him to despair. How could he possibly be satisfied with this existence after ruling as a King? After battling with a sword and shield and centaurs as his right hand men? The view from his office had once been of a beautiful vista of the sea, stretching as far as the eye could see; and it all been his to rule. Now his view was of the dingy London street outside and was partially obscured by the wall of the building next door and the rickety fire escape. To make matters worse his new secretary was not the quiet, demure woman he had hoped. He had a tendency to act like the High King on occasion and it usually made most people respect him; even the older members of the firm deferred to him when he put his views across; but not her. On her first day he had made the mistake of ordering her to take some dictation (He couldn't help, it sometimes the regal tone just came out of his mouth without him consciously making the decision).

"_Mr_ Pevensie," she had snapped. "I am here to assist you. Not to be your skivvy and certainly not to be spoken to like a serf! If you wish me to undertake tasks you can ask me politely."

He would have been within his rights to have her fired for speaking to him with such insolence, but he hadn't. At least having someone to argue with might make work more interesting. Besides, Peter had secretly always thought that a secretary that was nice to look at would be a pleasant addition to the office; and while he would never admit she was fascinating to look at. He regarded her now through the glass in his office door. She was odd looking to say the least. Not unattractive, not at all, but her features were so mismatched it made one wonder about her history. Her olive toned skin was at a stark contrast with her auburn hair. Her eyes had a slight upward tilt that gave her an eastern, exotic air, but that was utterly in congruous with their clear blue colour. She reminded Peter of a Dryad; they often had strange colouring that reflected the species of the trees they inhabited. The Dryads, of course, had never told Peter he was an arrogant sod. Neither, he guessed, would they regard him with the contempt he was suddenly subjected to as Angela looked up from her desk and caught him looking at her. Again. He sighed and checked the clock once more. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Angela tiredly descended the steps into the underground station and stopped short as she recognised the man standing at the platform's edge. _Typical_. In her first job she had been patronized and treated like a housemaid. At her last job working as a secretary at an awful school called Experiment House, she had been talked down to by the professors and treated like an idiotic child. She had sworn never to take that kind of treatment again. It may be a man's world, but after the war men were thin on the ground, and women were making their way into the workplace like never before. The very least she wanted was some respect. But he, this Mr Pevensie man, was so bloody arrogant it was unbelievable. Women simpered over him, men deferred to him as though he were royalty. She stood slightly behind him but he seemed to sense her presence and turned as she reached his shoulder.

"Ms Lowe"

She inclined her head to acknowledge his greeting and then looked away, avoiding conversation at all costs. The draught from the approaching train whipped a loose strand of her hair across her face and she turned her head from it to come face to face with _him _again. She frowned and started to move away to make her way to the other end of the platform

Pevensie suddenly looked angry

"Miss Lowe - I don't know what your problem is, but could you at least _try_ and be civil?"

"Civil? Me? You're the one who seems to think he needn't be polite.""

"Polite? You're my _secretary_, asking you to undertake tasks for me is my job!" his voice had risen and people were starting to stare

"I know that, but if a secretary is all I'm ever going to be, I'd at least like to spend my working days not being spoken to like a slave."

"Miss Lowe, if you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't be walking such a fine line with someone who could have you fired"

Angela riled and opened her mouth to respond but suddenly felt a tug at her sleeve and lurched as something pushed her

"Don't you dare touch me!"

"Touch you? I didn't, I-"

With sudden force the wind was picking up around them – what Angela had thought was the draught from the incoming train but it was getting stronger and stronger. She whirled round to see down the tunnel and felt Pevensie grab her hand as the largest gust yet swept her completely off her feet. Everything went dark as she landed with a thump face down on the ground.

**So... I hope this reads well, and I'll happily continue if people want to read it. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – thank you to those who reviewed last time, I hope this chapter is ok! I'm doing my best to make this as close to the original stories as poss while being completely non-canon (if that makes sense!), so if you have any corrections please let me know. I'm going to alternate viewpoints so the next chapter will be Angela's POV.**

Peter tasted grass under his lips and groaned as he eased himself up from the ground, systematically checking as he got up – arms, hands, fingers, ribs; legs feet, toes – all seemed intact. He looked around the dense, dark wood and felt his heart lift

_Could this possibly be_?

He took a couple of shaky steps and the ground felt solid under his feet; he touched a tree and the bark itched under his fingers. It was real. Now it was just a matter of working out where exactly he was. He suddenly spied Angela lying in a heap a few yards away and hurried towards her.

"Miss Lowe? Are you hurt?"

Angela shook her head and heaved herself into a sitting position, refusing his hand as she hauled herself to her feet. She k=looked around her and her jaw dropped as she took in her surroundings. She had an expression akin to awe on her face. Peter recognised that expression- it was how_ his_ face had looked the first time he had set foot in Narnia. Through force of habit borne on the battlefield he ran his eyes down her, scanning for injuries – she was still wearing the neat trouser suit she had worn to work that day, albeit rather dirty now, and her flat slip on shoes were still intact he was glad to note. She didn't seem hurt and her hair was still pinned back in a tight bun; overall she looked less disheveled than he felt.

"What is this place?"

"I think we're in the Wild Woods of the West" murmured Peter, more to himself than to her; but she caught it anyway.

"The Woods of the West? West of where? Where on earth are we?"

Peter ignored her question and gazed about him as he tried to find his bearings. The woods were thick and unforgiving and although he couldn't really see the sky, he guessed it was nearly nightfall. It was becoming chilly too.

"There's a light up ahead, look- let's head that way." He glanced at Angela for confirmation and she nodded silently in agreement.

They walked silently towards the source of light, stepping carefully over large roots and avoiding the odd patch of nettles. The woods started to thin and as they approached the light it became clear it was higher off the ground than they expected. Peter started to speed up and ran the last few places to the small clearing where the lamppost stood, glowing brightly and seemingly pointlessly in the middle of the forest. His face had broken into an ear-splitting grin.

"Mr Pevensie? Where are we?" Angela's voice did not have its usual confidence and she seemed to have shrunk in on herself.

"I've been here before, in fact-"

There was a rustling in the bushes and a figure emerged. Peter's hand sprang to his hip before he remembered he was not carrying a sword; whoever this was, if they weren't friendly, it could be a problem. But as the figure approached, Peter could see it was a faun and he relaxed a little. The fauns had always been on their side and he had no reason to think anything had changed.

The faun approached them cautiously and our of the corner of his eye Peter could see Angela trying her hardest not to stare at his hair covered legs, his horns, his hooves.

"You – have come from the World of Men". It was not a question.

"We have. Who are you? When is this? Who is on the throne?"

"I am Urnus the faun. King Caspian the tenth is our King – but he is now an old man and he has no heir. It will not do to talk about matters further here. You are to come with me please."

Peter nodded and set off to follow the faun into the woods. Turning back, he saw Angela's ashen face; she looked as though she might faint and he felt a sudden sympathy for her. This must have all been a tremendous shock, and tremendous shocks were much harder to bear as an adult. He and his siblings had all been so young when they'd first come here – they'd just accepted it, and even then it was Lucy, the youngest who'd found it easiest to adapt.

"Miss Lowe-" he started towards her and he tried to sound a little kinder than he normally did when addressing her "Come on. It won't do to be standing out here all night. This is a friend, and I'm sure he'll explain himself once we get to a safer place."

Angela gave a jerky nod and set off after the faun, her arms wrapped around herself. Peter sighed and followed in her wake, dodging branches that she let whip back at him as they made their way thought the woods after Urnus. The walk seemed long and difficult and Peter's mind wandered. Caspian had no heir. Narnia was without a ruler when he died. Was that why he had been bought back? And why had Angela come with him? He felt a sudden uncomfortable thought prick his mind. _He had grabbed her hand_. On the platform, when the wind came, he had instinctively grabbed her hand to stop her from falling. But she had fallen anyway, and now here she was, in a land that she didn't belong in, and it was his fault. He stared at her back as she picked her way through the forest and promised himself he would explain everything when he had the chance. She deserved that at least.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ok, so chapter 3. Hope you like it!**

**NB – the italics are thoughts**

**Forgot to say before, I don't own Narnia. Or much else for that matter.**

Angela's mind was racing. This morning she had gone to work as normal, had typed and filed and drank several cups of tea - but now at dusk she was walking through a forest, in a strange land, taking directions from a faun. A Faun. _Deep breaths, Angela. _The forest was thinning again and for some time she had felt that they were moving steadily downhill.

They were approaching another clearing, smaller than the last, flanked on one side by some large boulders that provided some shelter from the wind that was picking up around them. Several small tents had been pitched just in front of the boulders and there was a campfire blazing in front of them. This would all have seemed perfectly normal if it weren't for the mice gathered by the campfire; they stood on their hind feet and each was almost two feet tall, and they were deep in conversation. And when a pair of owls that were comfortably half her height came to land next to them and joined the chatter she decided she had officially lost her mind. The talk died down as Urnus stepped into the light of the fire and all eyes became fixed on Pevensie who had followed Urnus much more readily than Angela.

One of the owls came forward.

"Too woo. I am Glimfeather, and who are you?"

"I'm Peter Pevensie, and this is Angela Lowe," Peter gestured to Angela to come and join him – he seemed to be trying to give her a reassuring look and she decided she may as well trust him as not. She moved towards the fire and stood by his shoulder while the animals scrutinized them. One of the mice piped up cautiously.

"High King Peter? The Magnificant?"

_High King? This has to be a joke. _Angela raised her eyebrows and Pevensie had the grace to look a little uncomfortable as he addressed the mouse. "Just Peter is fine. But how do you - ah – you are a friend of Reepicheeps?"

"First cousin once removed Sire. Peereep at your service". The mouse bowed low and then turned to Angela – and at your service too of course Milady!"

Angela smiled at him. _A talking mouse. Of course. It makes perfect sense._ "The honour is all mine".

Pevensie cut across their greeting "Would you mind explaining what we are doing here? Where is Caspian?"

"He set sail for Terebintha half a year ago," said Peereep. "He hoped to see Aslan once more before his death, to ask who should rule after him. But we have had no word, and we do not expect him to return." The mouse shook his head sadly.

Angela frowned and racked her brain – had she ever heard of Terebintha? And who was this Aslan? She felt Pevensie's hand on her hip and couldn't bring herself to resist when he guided her to one of the lower rocks and bade her sit down. He seated himself next to her and turned back to the group before them.

"Why has he no heir? I thought he would marry – my sister Lucy said he met someone on their voyage-"

"Too true, too true" hooted Glimfeather. "We will tell you the story."

The other owl ruffled his feathers importantly and started to tell the tale of Prince Rilian and the Serpent **[see A/N]. **While he told the story Angela found herself making a mental list of place names and people which might come in useful. _The habits of a secretary die hard, _she thought wryly.

"And so, you see, " the owl finished "we have no King, and that is why we have summoned you. With this."

Two of the mice appeared from one of the tents carrying a horn between them and held it up for them to see. The horn was so smooth it appeared carved from marble; but when Angela looked closer she saw it was wood; unpolished, unvarnished, but carved so smooth it almost shone. Around the rim was an intricate carving of leaves and apples.

Pevensie gazed at the horn for a long moment and then looked back at the animals with questioning eyes.

"There is a prophecy;" started Peereep, puffing his chest up so they could be in no doubt that he was about in impart some very important information, "That one day Narnia would be without a King or Queen. It was said that when that time came, this horn, when blown, would bring forth a ruler. King Caspian left this horn with his people, with the express instruction that should he not return after 6 months, the horn was to be taken and used at Lantern Waste to summon a new ruler."

Angela looked a Pevensie who seemed to be taking the news that he had been summoned to be King over a strange land rather calmly. But then of course, if Peereep was to be believed, he had been King before.Pevensie seemed to be confused about something

"But surely Narnia has been without a King or Queen before? I mean, Miraz-"

"Was not the rightful King perhaps, but he took the throne nonetheless," said the old owl. "There have many pretenders to the throne over the years, some worthy, some not. But as long as there was someone to take the monarch's place, this prophecy was unfulfilled. This is the first time in Narnian history that the King has reached his death without an heir and no-one to leave in his stead."

Angela's head was becoming foggy. She was exhausted and despite the gears in her mind clanking around and around, desperately trying to process all the information it had been overloaded with, she felt sleep starting overtake her. Pevensie helped her up.

"Are we to sleep here tonight?"

Peereep, nodded vigorously and pointed towards a tent – "for you, Your Majesty, and the one next to it for you, Milady. We will stand guard tonight, and tomorrow we head to Cair Paravel."

**A/N – for those readers who haven't read the books (and I suggest you do because they are amazing!) this story is told in chapter 4 of **_**The Silver Chair**_**, and I'm not about to plagiarise it here!**

**Please do review- I have been meaning to write this down for over 10 years and reviews make it all worthwhile. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4. **

**Thanks you for the lovely reviews, it's great to see people are enjoying this. **

Peter sat on the grass, using the rock he and Angela had been sitting on the night before as a backrest. He bit into the soft bread that Urnus had thankfully produced for him after he had politely turned down Glimfeather's offer to go hunting before he retired to sleep for the day. The small party had had the foresight to bring clothes with them and he was dressed in a cotton shirt, leather jerkin and breeches tucked into some sturdy leather boots. For the first time in years he felt like himself again. Peter breathed in the fresh Narnian air and sighed in contentment.

He spied Angela approaching and braced himself for the inevitable onslaught. She had gone to bed without a word to him last night and he couldn't help but think that now she'd had a chance to process things he was in for it this morning. Well, if she needed someone to shout at he could lend himself to being a punchbag for now. She reached the rocks and he saw she was dressed in a similar way to him, with her hair plaited and tucked into her shirt. He smiled to himself. Susan and Lucy had always loved the Narnian dresses, but somehow he had known that Angela wouldn't be the same.

She sat down on the rock behind him, avoiding his gaze. She seemed to be considering what to say and Peter let her mull things over without interruption, silently handing her a piece of bread and a tin of water over his shoulder.

"You know, all my life I've hoped those stories were true." She began slowly, "that life couldn't just be all about going to work and making money, and cooking, and cleaning. I used to read books about fantasy worlds and magical creatures, and now I find out that there _is_ another world out there. And you've really been here before?"

"Twice," Peter nodded. "My brother and sisters and I came here when we were kids." He chuckled "It's a long story."

He glanced back at her and she seemed about to say something, but at that moment Urnus emerged from the third tent and made his way over to the rocks. The mice were busying themselves dismantling the campsite and Peereep nodded his thanks to Urnus as he stamped out the embers of the fire with his hooves as he passed.

"Sire," he said, bowing low before Peter. "It is time we set off."

Peter nodded his agreement and tried to ignore Angela rolling her eyes in the periphery of his vision.

Once everything had been packed, the loads were distributed amongst the members of the group; Peter, and Angela each carried a rolled up tent tied across their shoulders while Urnus carried the third and a number of other items in a pack on his back. He wore the horn in a leather pouch across his chest. They set off through the trees with Urnus in the lead and the mice bringing up the rear, each carrying a small sack of items on his back. Peereep carried the tent pegs and rattled with every step.

The walk was pleasant enough but Peter couldn't shake the feeling that Angela was finding the constant deference to him irritating.

"I can't help what they call me, you know" Peter leaned over and muttered in her ear. "I _was_ the King here once and they're going to keep treating me like it whether I like it or not."

Angela sighed and gave a tired ghost of a smile. "I suppose I should resign myself, _Sire_"

"Miss Lowe! Please don't - " Peter caught himself as he realised Angela was teasing him. "Fine. You carry on mocking me. I'll just have you put in the stocks for treason." He strode off smiling to himself as he heard Angela's outraged protest.

After a long morning of walking they reached the edge of the forest and they were met with the view Peter had missed so sorely. They had emerged halfway up a hill and Narnia lay before them, the landscape sweeping like a richly sewn tapestry that had been thrown down haphazardly, forming rolling hills and valleys. The trees were beginning to bud and the grass looked lush beneath their feet, and beyond it all there was the blue twinkle of the sea. Peter turned just in time to see Angela's reaction and was gratified when he heard her gasp and saw her mouth drop open in surprise.

"It's beautiful"

"I've always thought so."

"Where are we going? Cara –something -?"

"Cair Paravel – over there" Peter pointed at the white speck on the horizon he knew as well as he knew his parents' house in London.

Angela looked slightly worried. "It's a long way"

"Do not worry, Milady" said Urnus who had been quiet until now, letting them enjoy the view. "Glimfeather sent word to the castle last night and we have help for the journey."

He gestured to their left and they saw two centaurs standing at the wood's edge, one of them holding a horse that was harnessed to a small gig.

Peter couldn't deny his relief. It had been a long time since he had walked that distance and he was tired and sore from sleeping on the ground. _I'm out of practice_ he thought to himself.

Peter and Angela mounted centaur each and Urnus helped the mice into the gig before springing up himself.

It was a long journey, broken only by a brief stop for some cured meat and cheese that Urnus produced from his pack, and it was almost nightfall when the reached the gates of Cair Paravel. They were met at the door by a dwarf Peter recognised immediately.

"Trumpkin! It's so good to see you"

Trumpkin nodded to Peter. "It's good to see you too Your Majesty". Never one for pleasantries, he thanked Urnus briefly before turning to a Dryad that Peter guessedwas from a willow tree and asking her to show the guests to their rooms.

"I will have dinner served to you upstairs. You must be tired and we have much to discuss tomorrow".

* * *

The Tisroc (may he live forever) was seated in his court room awaiting the his most trusted spy, who had been seen at the outskirts of Tashbaan that very afternoon. A clatter of hooves announced the spy's arrival and he threw himself off the horse before kneeling before the Tisroc with his face upon the ground.

"Rise, my most sly one"

"O Eternal Tisroc" announced the spy. "I have watched Cair Paravel for a month and a day. King Caspian is still at sea and Narnia is ruled over by the Lord Regent, a lowly dwarf."

The Tisroc seemed deep in thought.

"Eternal Tisroc, if I may, "Started his Grand Vizier. "Caspian was a very old man. The chances of him returning now are surely -"

The Tisroc held his hand up to silence him.

"Narnia had been free for too long", he said quietly. "And now the time has come to claim it. Should Caspian return he will find a new leader in Narnia." He turned back to the Grand Vizier. "Call the guards. Tell them to make preparations for war."

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 people. **

**As ever, all characters are owned by C S Lewis.** **Except for Peereep - he's mine, but if you like him feel free to use him!**

Angela awoke to find the sun blazing in through the window. The room she had been given was large and comfortable and she felt refreshed after the bath she had had the night before and the long, peaceful night's sleep. The night she had spent on the forest floor and the arduous journey across the countryside on the back of a centaur felt as though they had been washed away.

There came a knock at the door and the dryad who had helped her bathe last night came in.

"Milady, breakfast is to be served in half an hour. May I help you to dress?"

Normally Angela would have refused– after all, she knew how to dress herself. But one look at the colossal wardrobe that dominated the corner of the room told her that she would probably need help finding something.

She was right. The wardrobe was heaving with beautiful dresses and cloaks and it took some time to find a tunic and breeches that she knew she'd be comfortable in. The dryad found some light sandals for her and she made her way down to the breakfast room.

Urnus greeted her with a smile and showed her to a seat. Pevensie grinned at her and passed her the dishes of bread and fruit before turning back to Trumpkin. He seemed to be in an excellent mood and it struck her that he really was at _home_ here. _Perhaps he's simply unpleasant because he's unhappy. _The thought made her feel a little guilty at her treatment of him but she shook it off. _He's the High King. I'm sure he can handle someone giving as good as they get._

Angela ate silently, listening to Pevensie and Trumpkin reminiscing about a battle they both seemed to have had some part in. They laughed and joked and she smiled to herself as she listened. She finished her fruit and wiped her mouth on a napkin before turning back to the conversation.

"So, how did you know it was time to use the horn? And where _was_ it? I don't remember seeing it when I was here before." Pevensie's brow was furrowed as he tried to remember.

"As is so often the case, Your Highness, it made itself known when the time was right. Come, I will show you."

Trumpkin led them out of the hall and through a door into the part of the castle that was more frequented by servants. They made their way down a long staircase into the lower floor of the castle where it was cooler and their footsteps echoed around them. Down some more steps they descended until Angela was positive they were underground. To start with they had passed some barrels and rounds of cheese that had obviously been left downstairs to keep cool, but as they progressed there were fewer things stored and more cobwebs and dust. As they moved farther and farther away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. They turned into a long, low tunnel that twisted and turned away from them, and Angela saw that the walls here were decorated with carvings. The first few she recognised from the story Glimfeather had told them; a woman, lying still on the ground, a serpent slithering away. Others obviously were older; a mouse in a tiny little coracle surrounded by lilies, a ship wrapped in the grasp of a sea serpent, a badger and a dwarf that looked an awful lot like Trumpkin in a forest. Still more carvings, older and more worn greeted them as the tunnel wove. Angela saw Pevensie's head turn at a set of carvings depicting four children on thrones, a lion next to them, and she couldn't read the expression on his face. Beyond that, a dozen or more carvings depicting kings and queens, a faun under a lamppost and many scenes of a wintry landscape. The pictures went on and on until they turned a corner and abruptly met a dead end.

Trumpkin turned to them both and spoke.

"Caspian, his Highness, found that sleep eluded him after Prince Rilian disappeared. He often used to wander the castle at night. And that is when he found _this-_" and with that Trumpkin pushed the wall, and a section swung away from him. Angela gasped and saw Pevensie's look of astonishment.

"I thought I knew this place inside out!"

"It is concealed, Your Majesty. It was found when it wanted to be found." Trumpkin bowed and ushered Angela through after Pevensie.

It was a continuation of the tunnel, just a few feet long, but the walls here were bare. Immediately in front was stout wooden door. It must have been at least 8 inches thick, as there was an indentation carved into it, exactly the size and shape of the horn. Above the hole was an engraving of a felled apple tree, and below letters cut jaggedly into the door. The dirt was packed in so tightly around the door its edges were almost obscured. Peter pushed against it but Trumpkin shook his head.

"It will not open Sire. It would not open for Caspian. I believe the prophecy must be fulfilled completely before whatever is beyond that door reveals itself."

"Fulfilled completely?" asked Angela. "Isn't the fact that Peter is here enough?"

Trumpkin nodded towards the letters on the lower half of the door. They were so jagged and old looking, that at first glance Angela had thought they were in another language – runes perhaps, if such a thing existed in this world, but as she looked closer she could see they formed a legible inscription

_King without heir,_

_Take forth this horn,_

_Call back the Protector,_

_Who calls Narnia home_

_And when evil rises,_

_The Protector will speak,_

_And worthy will prove,_

_Of the throne that you leave_

Pevensie turned towards Trumpkin with a troubled look.

"When evil rises?"

Trumpkin nodded.

"Calormene scouts have been spotted at the border. They will not rest while Narnia has no King. The Tisroc will want to take her for his own".

Angela glanced at Pevensie. He squared his shoulders and looked resolved.

"Then we know what needs to be done".

**Reviews are lovely!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – I know this is a bit short but I wrote it straight after chapter 5, and it didn't feel right tagging it on the end of that. **

**Can I also take this opportunity to apologise for my awful poetry in the last chapter!**

Peter leant on the windowsill and surveyed the land. He had been back here less than twenty four hours and yet already he felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. War was coming, and he felt in his bones that this was somehow more vital, more crucial, than the battles he had fought before. Twice he had claimed back this land from interlopers, but never had he been faced with the possibility that it might be forcibly taken from him. He felt keenly the loss of his brothers and sisters. He may have been High King, but with Edmund, Susan and Lucy at his side he had never truly been alone. And now he found himself preparing for a war as the only ruler in Narnia, without even Caspian to assist him. He wished harder than anything else that Aslan would appear, would advise him on what must happen. But deep down he knew he must resign himself to doing this alone.

Angela joined him at the window and followed his gaze. She had been much more pleasant today and he knew she was already starting to feel a pull towards the Narnians, a desire to help them keep the land they called home.

"Is there really going to be a battle?" her voice had never been so quiet.

"Yes," he answered shortly. "I have directed Peereep to start readying the troops. Any beast that is willing to fight will be welcomed. We'll ride out in a few days"

"So soon? Don't you think they need more time to prepare?"

"There isn't time." Peter's voice sounded harsh even to his own ears but he knew he was right. "The Calormenes will march on us and they are brutal, trained to kill with no regard to their own lives. The only way we stand a chance is to strike them first."

Angela swallowed and looked down, shaking her head before lifting her eyes back to the view outside. She was biting her lip and Peter felt himself soften.

"Try not to worry. We need you to hold the fort here and you can't do that if you're upset." He started to reach for her hand on the sill but Angela pulled it away and visibly collected herself, straightening her tunic and brushing imaginary dust off her breeches.

"Trumpkin wishes us to join him for dinner. Apparently he has something planned. You don't think it's dancing do you?" She suddenly looked even more worried and he couldn't keep from chuckling. With an over the top flourish he offered her his arm. Angela rolled her eyes but linked her arm through his nonetheless and they set off for the dining hall.

Dinner was a sumptuous affair. Everyone, it seemed, had been invited and the hall teemed with dwarves, fauns, centaurs and satyrs. Smaller tables had been set up for the mice and rabbits and other little animals and troughs had been placed around the walls for the Talking Horses to eat with the company. Peter ate his fill, knowing that in a few days he would back on battle rations.

After dinner Trumpkin motioned to Glimfeather who had risen from his roost for the evening's party. The owl hopped up onto the top table and hooted loudly for silence.

"Tu whoo, tu whoo, Urnus the faun, I give you!"

Urnus stepped out in front of the table and turned towards the masses in the hall who were all now quietly watching him. He bowed deeply and started to speak

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, Narnians and Talking Beasts. I would tell you a tale of Narnia, as it was passed down through my family, from my ancestor Tumnus the faun."

A ripple of excitement coursed through the room. Clearly this story was a favourite and Peter glanced at Angela who was riveted in her seat next to him and gazing at the faun with undivided attention. He wondered wryly how much she would enjoy this story once she realised he was one of the stars.

The light outside grew dim and Peter leaned back in his seat, grateful that for this occasion Trumpkin had chosen to install a long, padded bench with a cushioned back rather than individual seats behind the head table. He was comfortably full and as Urnus told the story of Edmund's betrayal, the Battle of Beruna and Aslan's defeat of the white witch he felt himself becoming sleepy. The younger creatures were tired and he saw mothers cradling their children, husbands holding their wives. He felt Angela nodding beside him and her head dropped onto his shoulder. He eased his arm out from under her and wound it around her shoulders to make them both more comfortable and leaned back a little further while he listened. It felt decidedly odd to hear his own life narrated before him and he hoped beyond anything else that he would live up to the expectations of these people.

* * *

The Tisroc (may he live forever) was satisfied. His guards were prepared. The horses were armoured, the weaponry lined up and ready to go. He had, however, one final thing to do before he gave the orders to march.

Behind his throne room was a small chamber which held a mirror. He knelt before it and spoke

"Calormen is ready for war"

"Good," came the faint reply from the ether. "Your soldiers will leave tonight. But there is one more part of the plan you must make them aware of."

The Tisroc looked deeply into the mirror and listened to the voice as it laid out its plans.

**Review, review review. Please!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**Thank you to all the reviewers so far especially Miniver - your comments have really encouraged me to keep this going. As someone who's totally new to writing it's lovely to hear that my stories are**** well received and reviews are really useful. Hint, hint.**

Angela was pacing the first floor corridor, stopping every so often to look out of the windows. The courtyard below was a flurry of activity. Several catapults had been thoroughly checked over before being lined up at the gates ready to roll out across the countryside. Ammunition was being packed and secured onto carts. Everywhere people were donning their battle dress and arming themselves, and Naiads and Dryads were stocking saddlebags with food. Peereep presided over everything from his vantage point atop a pile of crates.

Angela couldn't help but think this was all too soon, too rushed. She had found Pevensie much more amenable over the last few days but there was still that streak of arrogance, that 'I know best' demeanour that in London had been simply irritating but here was quite literally a matter of life and death. She wished he would stop and reconsider but a part of her knew he was simply trying to live up to the Narnian's expectations and was feeling the pressure of being thrust back into this role so suddenly. There was no reasoning with him. But over the last few days she'd learned much about this history of this place and she knew that Narnia hadn't been at war since Trumpkin was a young dwarf. The people here had all grown up in a time of peace and none of them had had any training for battle.

She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Pevensie standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a leather tunic under some simple armour and he held his helmet in his hand. Despite his dress he looked terribly young. _The last time he went to war he was just a boy._

"You're leaving soon, aren't you?"

"Later today we'll ride. Everything is almost prepared now; I'm just waiting for Peereep to give me word that they're ready."

"I don't suppose there's any point in asking you to wait a few days?"

"We're not going to the border immediately. We'll stop at a place called Aslan's How to plan our strategy. There's more room there for sparring."

Angela sighed. A question had been at the back of her mind since they had seen the door in the cellar and she voiced it now.

"What if something happens to you? What about your parents?"

"Ed and Lucy will guess where I am. I'm sure they'll think of something to tell Mother and Dad." Pevensie's voice almost cracked and Angela regretted bringing it up.

"Take this anyway." She thrust a small package she'd put together for him into his hands.

"What's this?" Pevensie looked intrigued as he held it up and wrinkled his nose "It smells funny"

Angela laughed at his expression.

"It's just a few herbs I picked from the castle grounds. They're all useful for pain relief and preventing infection in wounds. Just in case." She shuddered at the thought of them being needed at all.

"Impressive. How did you know which ones to pick?"

"Good old Aunty." At his questioning look she explained "My parents are, well, they died when I was very young, so I was sent to live with my Great Aunt." Angela shook her head at his sudden look of sympathy. "It's fine, really, I don't remember them, and she was great fun to grow up with. She's one of those women who, well, she's not exactly _conventional_. She always said one should be prepared for anything. I wasn't allowed to leave the house without a penknife and some matches, and I remember once I stung my leg on some nettles and she insisted that I spot a dock leaf myself before she'd pick it for me."

Pevensie chuckled "that explains a lot"

Angela gave him a gentle shove and smiled to herself

"To tell you the truth I never thought her lessons would come in so useful."

He and stroked the parcel with his thumb, a contemplative look on his face. Angela gazed out of the window again and saw one of the centaurs kneeling on the ground checking his bow. He looked up and smiled as his wife brought him a leather pouch of food, and reached up to gently touch her face. Angela felt her heart twist at the thought of him leaving her behind.

"They're not soldiers, Peter." She said softly.

"I know." He hung his head and sighed. ""I don't see any other choice though." He straightened up and turned to leave the room.

"Wait." Angela whipped round "Please – please be careful."

Pevensie looked hard at her before striding back across the room and tugging her to him with one arm. He held her tight for a moment and then turned and left without another word.

* * *

The Calormenes raced across the desert, urging their horses over the dunes, a cloud of sand and dust rising around them. The Tarkheen had his orders and knew time was of the essence.

* * *

Angela, Trumpkin and Urnus watched from the castle door as the soldiers marched out of the grounds and across the drawbridge.

Peter was mounted on a unicorn and as Angela watched his retreating back she found she suddenly couldn't bear the thought of him not returning. _When did this happen? When did he stop being Pevensie, or Sire, or that-arrogant-idiot-I-work-for and start being just Peter?,_

She was startled out of her reverie by Urnus who took her arm and led her back inside.

"Come Milady. We must prepare the castle for attack. We are at war now and it doesn't do to be complacent and leave ourselves unprotected."

**A/N - I think I may have stolen the 'They're not soldiers' line from somewhere but can't for the life of me think where. LOTR...??**

**Anyway - R&R please!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8. This is short, but I hope you like it. The next one'll be up later tonight.:)**

Peter never felt so free as when he was riding. He had had few opportunities in London but his muscles, long out of use, had started to wake up and he was feeling more comfortable as the day went on. The unicorn he was riding, a stallion by the name of Opal, had at his request been quietly pointing out landmarks to him, serving both to jog his memory and update him on changes that had taken place since his last visit. Narnia looked much more as it had done when he ruled, Caspian having replenished the forests that the Telmarines had felled during their hold on the country.

His mind wandered back to Angela; he was starting to feel terribly guilty about dragging her into all of this. When he had announced his plans to set out to the border she had initially asked to ride out with them; whilst he had been horrified at the thought of her willingness to put herself in danger, a tiny part of him had wanted to say yes, simply so that he could keep her by his side and know she was safe. _By his side_. The feel of her sleeping against his shoulder was still fresh in his mind. It had been far from unpleasant, the smell of her hair, the sound of her breathing next to him. He wondered if he was missing out somehow; if a woman he didn't particularly get on with felt so comfortable, so _right_ in his arms, what would it feel like if it were someone he loved? His mother had been trying to pair him off with various girls for years now and he had never been interested. His life had always felt as though he were marking time until the next big adventure and he had avoided becoming involved, but now, well, he was starting to see the attraction in having someone there, someone to hold and rely on. _After this is done, after I get sent home yet again, I swear I'll stop living my real life like it's a shadow of this one._

It was nightfall when the party reached Aslan's How and Peter rode through the entrance first. Many of the Narnians had not been here before and he led the way through to the chamber that held the Stone Table. Dismounting, he stepped through the throng and made his way to the Table itself, climbing up and surveying the crowd who were watching him silently. He nodded to Peereep who hopped up onto the Table to join him.

"Narnians," he began, his voice echoing round the chamber, "We will make camp here for a few days and the battle plans will be drawn. You will all have a part to play and you will need to be dedicated to learning the plans. None of you have fought before; but you are here, and that tells me everything I need to know about your bravery. Now you must show me how hard you can work. For Narnia!"

"For Narnia!" the troops shouted, and suddenly there was a huge bang as the door to the chamber slammed shut. Peter looked up sharply in confusion and to his horror he saw the trap they had walked into. Out of nowhere, Calormene soldiers were appearing. From behind pillars, through doorways, descending from ropes, seemingly appearing from thin air, they poured into the chamber and fell upon the Narnians like hyenas on a fresh kill.

Peter snatched up his sword and ran towards the thickest part of the crowd. All was chaos and he shouted to a pair of minotaurs nearest the door to try and get it open. Peereep sprang out from behind him and disappeared into the melee; he had obviously taken lessons from Reepicheep and his swordsmanship was enough to make several of the enemy take him on at once. Others had reached their weapons and Peter could see that the few lessons that had had time for had at least paid off as Calormenes started to fall. It was not enough though; they were outnumbered and the enemy had been well trained. Narnians were falling left, right and centre and Peter shouted orders to his troops, his poor, untrained, _brave_ troops who he had allowed to walk straight into this snake pit. Everything seemed a blur as he fought his way through the Calormenes, doing his best to protect his men until the door started to creak open again.

"Fall back! Narnians, fall back!"

The Narnians stopped trying the fight the Calormenes and concentrated on simply getting to the door and away. Peter turned his back to the door and ushered Narnians through as fast as they could go, beating back the soldiers that pursued them. Eventually he turned tail and started to run himself but stopped short as he heard a cold voice that stilled him in his tracks.

"He is mine!"

Peter froze a split second too long and felt the dull thump of an arrow hitting his side before everything went dark.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Still own nothing!**

Angela couldn't sleep. It had been three days since Peter and the troops had left for Aslan's How and she spent every waking moment worrying before going to bed and continuing to worry during the moments when she should be sleeping. During the daylight she could busy herself with assisting Trumpkin and Urnus. But at night time there was no distraction and no matter how much she wore herself out during the day, sleep would not come.

And tired she was; every moment of the day was filled with preparations for a siege. The castle's food supplies were piled high and arrangements had been made to bring livestock and essential workmen into the castle grounds so that they were well prepared should the gates need to be closed at short notice. And while no one liked to speak too openly about it, preparations were being made to receive wounded soldiers. Angela couldn't shake her dread at the thought of Peter being wounded. He was her only link to their world and while he still had the ability to irritate her more than almost anyone else she'd ever met, she couldn't bring herself to hate him as she had once. His heart was in the right place and he had held her when she needed it most. She blushed suddenly in the darkness as she thought about the way he had pressed her to his chest. _Get a grip, girl. Since when did you need a knight in shining armour?_

She had been tossing and turning for hours when she decided to get up and go for a walk. _If I get myself good and lost, finding my way back to my room will take my mind off things._

She shrugged her robe on over her nightgown and picked up the candle from her bedside, leaning over to light it on the embers of her fire. The night was chilly and she stepped into some slippers before leaving her room.

The castle, however friendly it looked during daylight, was eerie at night. Candles were kept lit at intervals but the long shadows they cast combined with the moonlight shining through the windows made it seem as though there was something moving in every corner. Angela concentrated on getting lost. She walked quickly, deliberately turning in different directions and paying no heed to the furniture or pictures she passed.

Angela stepped down yet another staircase and found herself in the corridor that led to the tunnel of carvings. _Why not? I wanted to have a closer look at those pictures._ She moved down towards the tunnel and stopped when she reached the first of the pictures. To her surprise the first one depicted Peter riding out just days before, with herself, Urnus and Trumpkin watching from Cair Paravel's steps. She felt a little prickle of pride at being included in Narnia's history and marvelled at the thought that someone, somewhere, was taking the trouble to update the pictures. _It's like a living version of the Bayeux Tapestry. _She moved on down the tunnel, taking her time, moving from one picture to the next, lingering over the ones that she now knew depicted Peter, the High King, at just thirteen.

The secret entrance still stood slightly ajar and she slid through, coming face to face with the wooden door. Tracing her fingers lightly over the letters on its surface, she wondered how accurate this prophecy was. It said the Protector _would_ prove his worth, not that he _might_ or would _try_ – did that mean it was decided already, that Peter couldn't possibly fail?

Angela stared at the letters a little longer and was about to turn away when she felt it. A low hum that seemed to be coming from the door itself, calling her to it. She laid her palm on the carving of the tree and cried out in surprise when it moved. _It moved. It's open! Does that mean Peter's succeeded already?_ Angela pushed harder and the door swung away from her, quite smoothly and easily, almost as though it had never been shut. Taking a deep breath, Angela stepped through into the chamber beyond. It was round, and clearly the end of the tunnel. There were more carvings in here, and directly in front of her on a slightly raised part of the ground stood a throne. Made of the same wood and, to Angela's untrained eye at least, carved by the same hand, it was smooth and decorated with raised carvings of leaves and apples. _The Protector's throne. It must be._

Angela turned her attention to the carvings. These were_ old_, she knew immediately. The very style of them hinted at their age and she had to squint to decipher some of the pictures. They started at one side of the door, continuing round the chamber. The first few were rather abstract looking and she couldn't make out what they showed at all. The first one that was in any way clear was of a group of animals surrounding a lion, and further on there was a picture of a winged horse with two small children upon its back. _More children from our world?_ The next set of pictures depicted a King and Queen, the first showing what must have been their coronation and the last an image of the woman holding a baby. The very last carving in the chamber showed a felled apple tree much like the one on the door. Angela looked again and again, trying to make sense of the story they told. Why had these pictures been hidden away? What was so different about them that they couldn't be seen with all the others? She lingered so long that her candle started to burn low and having no desire to be left down here in the dark she turned to leave.

Back in her room she laid upon the bed making a mental note of everything she had seen. Should the door lock itself again, she would like to be able to tell Peter what she the pictures had shown chamber. Perhaps he could make more sense of it than she; perhaps it would help them win. Tiredness finally overtook her as the first light of the dawn started to creep in through the window.

**Reviews are very much appreciated. :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10. Hopefully I will get chapter 11 up soon!**

Peter awoke with a start to a stinging sensation in his cheek and looked up to see a tall man in front of him, straightening up after slapping him across the face.

Peter tried to take stock of his surroundings. He was in front of the Stone Table, half sitting, half lying on the ground, his hands bound behind his back. His head throbbed and he did not know how long he had been here. Judging by the ache in his shoulders and wrists his arms had been tied for several hours at least. He was hungry, thirsty and his entire body protested the position he found himself in. He shifted slightly and a searing pain ripped across his side.

"The wound will not kill you, Your_ Majesty_" said the Tarkheen. "But I would suggest you do not aggravate it by struggling." He looked up at the two remaining guards.

"Leave us. Wait outside and we will rejoin the company when I am finished here."

The guards bowed and left the room. Peter craned his neck to see the Tarkheen as he moved across the chamber and watched as he lifted a heavy lump of wood, leaning it against the door and wedging it shut. The chamber was lit only by a torch on the walls and the shadows leapt around them as the flame flickered.

The Tarkheen came back to stand in front of him.

"There is someone here who I would very much like you to meet." He said with a smile that showed all of his teeth. He stepped back and held out his arm as if to introduce a guest. From the darkness stepped a figure, and Peter felt the blood drain from his face as he recognised who stood there.

At the back of the chamber, unseen, a mouse wriggled under the door and started to dig at the earth under the lump of wood holding it shut.

The White Witch towered over Peter and looked down upon him with an almost kind expression.

"Peter. Did you really think I was gone forever?"

Peter stared her in the eye, determined not to let her see the fear that was rising in his stomach. She was holding a dagger in her hand that was covered in dried blood Peter guessed was his own. _She must've thrown it at me. I was the last one out. All they needed to do was drag me back._

Peereep dug harder and the block of wood started to lean.

"And now, Peter, your death will open the way for my way back into Narnia. What good is a country, after all, without a Queen?" The Witch stroked the blade of her dagger thoughtfully, "And how fitting that you should die here, where I killed your _Aslan_ all those years ago." She smiled at him and her teeth flashed.

"He came back, remember? What makes you think he can't bring me back too?" Peter knew he was bluffing.

"But where is he, Peter? He's not here to save you now." She raised her arm and Peter braced himself. But suddenly she paused as a low thumped echoed from the back of the chamber. The Tarkheen's head whipped round as the chamber door burst open and then threw his arm over his face as a centaur leapt over Peter's head brandishing a length of sacking that he swung around his head like a lariat. He flung it at the Tarkheen and the Witch, knocking the flaming torch off the wall in the process. Flames erupted in front of them as the sack caught fire and Peter felt hands upon him as another centaur lifted him bodily onto Opal's back. Opal turned and raced towards the door at flat gallop.

Peereep, perched on the wood by the door, sprang up onto Peter's leg as they passed and scrambled round behind him, slicing his bonds open with one strike of his sword. Peter gratefully tangled his hands into Opal's mane and sagged forward as they headed towards the woods.

The Tarkheen raced to the chamber door, and screamed in rage as he saw his guards lying on the floor. A single arrow had killed one of the guards instantly and pierced the other's arm, pinning him underneath his dead companion. He roared and started to run after the feeling Narnians.

"Leave them" said the cold voice of the witch behind him. "Peter will come to me himself soon enough"

* * *

Peter winced as Peereep dabbed at the wound on his side. His shoulders were in agony from being held in such an awkward position for so long and his head was still foggy from the length of time he had been unconscious.

"What happened?"

"We were all running from the How; when we looked back you were nowhere to be seen, Your Majesty. We hid here, in the woods. Luckily we know them better than that scum." Peereep shook his head sadly. "It was two days and two nights before the Calormen soldiers stopped looking for us and fell back to the river. We knew once they were gone we would have a chance at overpowering those that were left. Once nightfall came on the third day we went in to rescue you."

Glimfeather landed nearby with an almost silent flurry of wings and looked questioningly at Peereep.

"Have you any word for the castle Sire?"

Peter grimaced.

"They must not know the depth of our defeat; it will only cause fear and despair. Calormen will strike again, it is certain. But they have fallen back for now, and we are returning to Cair Paravel. Let_ that_ be the news Glimfeather imparts to Trumpkin. Once we have returned we can discuss fully what is to be done next."

Peereep scuttled over to relay the news to Glimfeather, who ruffled his feathers and took off.

"What now, Your Majesty?" asked Opal, "are we to return tonight, or would you rest first?"

The survivors of the ambush were gathering round them, looking to him for instructions. Peter shook his head. He could not quite believe that the Narnians still had so much faith in him. His judgement had proven to be questionable so far; he had led their companions to their deaths, and yet they had risked their lives to rescue him and were turning to him once again for orders.

"Tonight," he said, "Tonight we must return. The Calormenes have fooled us once. We mustn't give them the chance to get to Cair Paravel before us."

**Please review, tis lovely to know what you think. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11. Hope you like!**

**As ever, everything is the property of CS Lewis.**

Angela sat on the steps outside Peter's bedroom and waited. The soldiers had returned home that morning and it had been a shock to say the least. Many were injured, some limping through the castle gate, some being carried by their comrades., Still more were not present at all. Peter had ridden in looking as weary as she'd ever seen him, years older than he had looked the day they set out. He had caught her eye and given an almost imperceptible shake of his head. _Not now, _that look had said. Now he was in his room speaking with Trumpkin and had been so for hours. It was almost nightfall again and Angela wanted to speak to him so badly she couldn't sit still. She had alternated between pacing the hallway and sitting down, wringing her hands and biting her nails. _What had happened?_

Finally Trumpkin emerged and headed away down the hallway, looking troubled and muttering to himself. Angela slipped quickly from the shadows to Peter's door and knocked.

"It's me"

"Come in" came Peter's tired voice and she cautiously pushed the door open.

Peter was sitting on the edge of his bed, his back to her, his head hanging. Angela walked across the room and sat down next to him. She watched his face but he made no move to look at her or to speak. He seemed utterly broken.

"What _happened?"_

Peter started to speak, his voice defeated and heavy.

"The Calormenes were waiting for us at Aslan's How. They ambushed us. I don't know how they guessed we'd go there first but they did. And it paid off."

"But they've retreated now?"

"They've fallen back but they've done what they set out to do. We've been weakened, and they forced us to run before we could do any damage back."

Angela bit her lip.

"They'll be back, won't they?"

"Yes" Peter answered shortly. "They'll regroup and I expect them to march on Cair Paravel. Soon. At least we have been preparing for a siege." He sighed. "But it's worse than that."

"What?"

Peter suddenly grabbed her elbow and stood up, pulling her to the window.

"Look at the horizon, go on, look"

Angela followed his gaze and saw what he was looking at. The sun had set and the sky was a dark velvety blue while the land was inky black; it should have been almost impossible to pick out the line of the horizon, but there it was, sharply outlined in silvery white.

"What _is _that?" Angela asked squinting as she tried to see more clearly.

"It's _winter,_ Angela. The White Witch is coming back. It's she the Tisroc is taking his orders from. I should've known, I should have _thought" _Peter banged his fist on the windowsill in frustration and suddenly winced.

"You're hurt" Angela said in concern.

"It's nothing, really"

"Let me see"

"No, really, I-"

"Let me _see, _Peter"

Peter gave her a resigned glance before sitting back down on the edge of his bed and starting to unbutton his jerkin. Angela could see he was favouring his right arm and she moved to kneel behind him on the bed, helping to ease the vest off his shoulders so he would not have to raise his arm too far. Casting it aside, she continued to help him with his shirt and then folded it behind her, before turning to be faced with Peter's naked back. Her cheeks burned and she had a sudden very vivid image of her what her Aunt's face would look like if she were aware of the situation Angela found herself in. She may have been unconventional, but there were some things she had very strong views about. _And being in the company of a half naked young man in his bedroom is probably one of the things she wouldn't approve of_.

Angela shook her head and collected her thoughts before slipping back of the bed and moving to stand in front of Peter. The wound was on his right side and was angry and red. A deep purple bruise had blossomed around it and she guessed whatever had caused it had caught one of the ribs underneath.

"I need to clean this properly, otherwise it might become diseased."

Peter nodded and Angela turned and tipped some water from the pitcher on the side table into a dish. The package of herbs she had given Peter was lying on his windowsill and she was glad to note that it had been opened. _At least someone had the sense to use them when the wound was fresher than it is now_. She pinched some of the herbs from the pack and crumbled them into the dish. Taking up a rag she dipped it into the mixture and turned to dab some of it onto the wound. Peter hissed in pain and gripped her shoulder with his good hand.

Angela tried to work quickly, washing the wound thoroughly and then binding it again, wrapping a bandage around Peter's ribcage. He sighed in relief once she was done and leant back against his pillows, closing his eyes. He looked simply exhausted and Angela turned to leave.

"I'll let you get some sleep"

"Wait" Peter's voice suddenly sounded desperate "Could you? I mean, I; I just need-"

Angela saw in his eyes the words he couldn't bring himself to speak. Mr Pevensie, the King, the Magnificent, was asking her to stay with him. Pleading silently that she wouldn't leave him alone with his thoughts. Angela knew she couldn't refuse him.

"Alright," she said, walking back towards the bed. "Alright."

**How many more ways are there to ask for a review....?? :)**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 – sorry it's been a while coming, have been thinking this one over. And real life interrupts occasionally! **

Peter's dreams had faded into nothingness and he slowly began to wake; his head felt clearer than it had since before the battle and the pain in his side had lessened to a dull ache. He felt comfortable and warm, and he had a mouthful of hair. _What the? _Blinking fully awake he raised his head and looked down at the woman in his arms in surprise. Angela was lying next to him, her back firmly pressed against his chest. His arm was wound tightly around her waist and his hand had somehow found its way under her shirt, his palm against the bare skin of her stomach, his fingers splayed from naval to ribs. He felt a wave of contentment and settled his head back down on the pillow. There was certainly something to be said for this. _Perhaps my mother is right after all; a nice girl might just be what I need in my life. _His fingertips grazed against her skin and she shifted slightly, before rolling over completely and coming to rest facing him, her head in the crook of his neck. Her movement brought him back to his senses with a crash. What was he doing? Taking advantage of a woman who was asleep? She would never let him forget it.

He debated with himself whether to wake her. Perhaps, just perhaps she would move away before she woke naturally and he wouldn't have to face the consequences of holding her in such an intimate way.

Before he could decide however, the castle was shaken suddenly with the sound of a huge thud that caused the walls to tremor and the floor to shake. Angela shot up in the bed and there was no time for recriminations as they both leapt up and ran to the window. An enormous boulder had been fired over the castle walls and come to rest in the middle of the courtyard. Peter scanned the area quickly; chickens were running amok, people were screaming and several horses had taken fright but thankfully nobody appeared to be hurt. Peter gazed over the wall and saw a catapult partially hidden in a grove of trees, several hundred yards away that must have been silently transported there in the dead of night. Archers on Cair Paravel's battlements were already firing into the copse but Peter knew the catapult's work was done, and the soldiers who had fired it were expendable. It was a message, a warning of what was to come. Peter heard the White Witch's words in his mind

"_Peter will come to me himself soon enough"_

She wanted him to hand himself over. And with sudden certainty he knew that that would be her bargain. She did not want to rule over Narnia as an empty land, she wanted its people as her subjects. If he handed himself to her, she would take his place and the Narnians would remain largely unharmed. What was power without people over whom to wield it?

"I need to show you something" Angela said quietly. Peter glanced at her and saw she looked faintly sick with fear, but her voice was determined. He nodded without a word and turned to pick up his shirt before following her from the room.

Angela led the way through the castle and as they approached the into the tunnel of carvings Peter did not look either way. Angela had told him that someone was still updating the visual history and he had no desire to see if someone had stolen down in the dead of night to add an image of his defeat. He wondered whether the Narnians would even care if he gave himself up. He had hardly proven his worth as their new King. Eventually they reached the door which bore the prophecy; it looked as solid as ever and he couldn't understand why Angela had brought him back down here. Had she seen something in the prophecy that he hadn't? But then she placed her hand against the door's edge and Peter's mouth dropped open in shock as he saw it swing open under the gentle pressure of her palm. Beyond it, his eyes roamed over the the primitive throne room, the throne itself. Peter gazed in wonder at this latest discovery. Who had carved it? And for whom? For him? He had studied Narnian history extensively in his time as King and there had never been any mention of this.

Angela gestured with her torch to the carvings on the walls.

"Do they mean anything to you?"

Peter shook his head as his eyes ran over the first of the pictures. He could make no more sense of them than Angela had. As he reached the last few pictures, however, a spark of recognition ignited in the back of his mind.

"I believe that may be King Frank – the first, I mean; I noticed the carvings in the tunnel only went back as far as his son, Frank the second. This must be him. I don't know why his picture should be hidden away in here though." Peter shook his head in confusion, "The other carvings, though – perhaps they come _before_ Frank?"

"What happened before his time?" Angela queried with interest

"I don't know" Peter was starting to feel hopelessly ignorant. "I studied the reign of each monarch, I know the history of Narnia's leaders through and through, but I've no idea what happened _before_ the Kings and Queens. I've never even _thought_ about it."

"You're not to blame for this, Peter" Angela said softly. "How could you possibly know what happened so early in Narnia's history? Records probably weren't even kept until the first King was on the throne, and maybe not even then."

"I should've asked though." Peter was almost talking to himself now, furious with his own disregard for the old magic, the history that he knew had been so important when he first came to Narnia, when Aslan sacrificed himself.

His thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble above their heads accompanied by a light shower of dust from the ceiling.

Angela looked at his stricken face and he knew she already knew what he was going to say.

"They're coming"

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	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13. Sorry for the delay! **

**A/N – as one of the reviews pointed out, the male Calormenes were called Tarkhaans, not Tarkheens……. sorry for the mistake, and thanks to Link Fangirl01** **for taking the time to tell me!**

Angela looked at Peter in horror.

"Already?"

Peter nodded slowly and his face became very grave.

"But I might be able to finish this once and for all"

"How?"

Peter looked at her very steadily and although she started, she didn't object when he picked up her hand.

"It's me she wants. She tried to kill me when we last met, but she couldn't."

Angela started to feel nauseous. "You're not giving yourself up?" At his look she cried "But what about the Narnians? If they don't have you to protect them she'll kill them all."

Peter shook his head and sighed.

"You don't understand her like I do, Angela. She won't kill the Narnians if they're her subjects. But she will if they're fighting against her. You know what happened at the How. How can I let that happen again to them?"

"I don't think you understand, Peter. The Narnian's would rather be dead than ruled over by her."

"If they won't be ruled by her they _will_ be dead. Peter's voice was bitter. "I won't lead them on another fool's errand, Angela. I _won't_."

He turned abruptly, dropping her hand and heading for the door.

"I'm going to go and tell Trumpkin I'll hand myself over."

Angela stared after his back with dismay. He walked away without another glance and she sat on the floor, staring up at the pictures, the strange carvings, willing them to tell her something, _anything_ about how to beat this enemy. The King and Queens stared dumbly back at her, but something in their eyes told her to be calm.

Resolved, she sat. She could wait and perhaps hidden here she could be of some use. Perhaps the carvings would tell her their secret when the time came.

* * *

Peter adjusted his armour. It was useless now, but he would not meet the Witch without looking like the proud King he was. Opal was in the stable waiting for him, and Trumpkin had simply nodded his agreement at Peter's offer before retiring to his study. Peter had never seen anyone look quite so defeated.

The Calormenes were here, now. The army stood beyond the castle gates, but if they chose they could bring the wall down in seconds. The Witch was amongst them, sitting on a litter borne by four of the biggest soldiers.

The Narnian's waited; the archers on the battlements, the swordsmen in the courtyard. Everything was prepared, but the Calormenes were still and silent and no-one knew when they would strike the first blow. Peter knew what he had to do. He laid a reassuring hand on Opal's neck and thought back to his argument with Angela in the tunnel below.

"_I don't think you understand, Peter. The Narnian's would rather be dead than ruled over by her."_

Peter shook his head. How could she know that? There were children here. Their mothers would do anything to protect them and if that meant bowing to the Witch as their Queen then they would surely do it. Setting his jaw he mounted Opal and rode towards the courtyard.

* * *

Below, in the chamber, Angela closed her mind to the though of him surely riding to his death. She clenched her fists and screwed up her eyes, desperately trying to stop the tears threatening to leak out.

_This has nothing to do with him._

She stood, resolved, and walked as though she had been wound like clockwork, blindly finding her way to the tower that overlooked the courtyard. Her eyes found the scene below her, Peter riding away and the Narnians, innocent and kind, turning away as their last hope left them behind.

She looked away in anger. A fury was building inside her. How _dare_ the White Witch march into this land and claim their King? Who did she think she was?

Angela turned to the window once more and watched Peter approaching the Witch and her army. At the gate he dismounted and patted Opal. The unicorn trotted back towards the Narnians and Angela guessed Peter had made him go back to his comrades. He walked straight and tall towards the waiting crowd of Calormenes, never mind the ache that he must've felt in his side. For a moment Angela was inexplicably proud of him.

_He's so _brave_._

Another wave of fury came over her and she shut her eyes again, breathing slowly through her nose, trying to calm the storm that was beginning to erupt inside her.

* * *

Peter stood in front of the Calormene army. The Witch's eyes gleamed as he met her gaze and she gave the faintest of smiles. Peter wondered if she had worn that same look the night Aslan had gone to her.

_Aslan_

* * *

Angela was fighting a losing battle with herself. A force was overtaking her body and she dropped onto all fours; her lungs burned, her limbs ached and she felt a strength she didn't know she possessed taking her over. She was suddenly upright again and her legs carried her towards the balcony; they broke into a run without her bidding and for a terrifying moment she thought her subconscious was going to hurl her body from the balcony to the courtyard below. But her feet planted themselves in the stone and instead her body jerked forward, her mouth opening and a roar that was not her own ripped from her lungs.

Far, far below Peter's head whipped round as he heard the roar, the sound he had been desperate to hear since war had been declared. _It's Aslan. It has to be._

But all he could see was the thin girl on the balcony, her mouth open wide and her eyes more fierce than anything he had ever beheld.

The Narnian's behind him hurled themselves to the ground and a moment later he understood why as the ground started to shake. A split second later and the tremor had passed him and reached the Calormenes, throwing them off their feet. A terrible sound, louder than anything Peter had ever heard, louder than thunder, louder than the earthquake itself made his ears ring and a chasm several feet wide tore across the landscape, separating the army from Cair Paravel and swallowing the Calormenes. The litter bearers were scrambling away from the edge and Peter only had the briefest of glances at the terror on the Witch's face before she too, fell into the chasm.

The remainder of the army began to turn and flee and as suddenly as it started the noise stopped. Peter looked back up at the balcony, and shouted as he saw Angela's head droop and her body topple over the edge.

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	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14. Just one more after this I think. Hope you have enjoyed so far!**

Peter ran towards the foot of the tower, elbowing his way through the crowd. He pulled himself up short as he was confronted with the sight of Angela's twisted body lying on the ground. She looked tiny and defenceless and Peter's stomach lurched.

"No," he couldn't bring himself to believe that she was gone. How could this have happened? How could he have left her behind?

Stooping low, he gently lifted her body from the ground and carried her inside. The crowd of Narnians who had been cheering when the witch fell were standing silently now. They parted to let him past and he could feel their sad gaze on his back as he left them behind. Blindly he walked through the castle, not knowing where to take her, desperately letting his feet move of their own accord. He found himself in the tunnel of carvings and took her to the chamber, laying her at the foot of the throne.

"Please, by the Lion," Peter bowed his head and shut his eyes tightly, "I never meant for her to be hurt."

"Son of Adam" came the deep voice behind him and Peter turned in astonishment and despair to see the lion standing in the doorway. He staggered back and let Aslan come forward; blinking back tears he hadn't known were there until now.

Aslan bent over Angela's lifeless form and breathed deeply over her. Peter's heart leapt into his chest as he saw her begin to stir. Slowly she blinked and opened her eyes, and Peter rushed forward to help her to her feet.

"Peter" said Angela hoarsely. Her eyes found Aslan and Peter felt her tense and then lean heavily on him as she hauled herself up. Standing like a soldier, she faced the lion; bruised, battered and covered in dirt, but with her back poker straight and her head held high. Peter felt a surge of fierce pride as he saw her unflinchingly look Aslan straight in the eye.

"I believe, Sir;" she began, and Peter could hear what the courtesy in her voice cost her, "that you owe me an explanation."

Aslan observed her steadily and gave an almost imperceptible nod of his huge head.

"There is a prophesy. Older than time itself, that when a land is created, a protector of sorts will be born; one who can stand and fight for that land in its darkest hour." Here Aslan paused and gave Angela a serious, searching look.

"But you, dear one, were born far, far too soon."

Confused, Peter watched Angela's face but she was giving nothing away.

"You," continued Aslan, "were the first daughter of King Frank and Queen Helen"

Angela's eyes sparked in recognition and Peter felt his mouth drop open in shock.

Angela's eyes flicked to the picture on the wall next to her. "Them? They're my parents?"

"The first King and Queen of Narnia, yes – plucked from the World of Men millennia ago at the beginning of Narnian time. The Tree of Protection, that you see upon this chamber door, was planted at the time of their coronation to keep the White Witch, the first evil to enter this world, at bay. On the night you were born, The Tree of Protection was felled by a strike of lightening, and yet the Witch was still unable to exert her evil over Narnia. Your mere presence kept her further at bay than she had ever been, further even than when the Tree had stood. I knew, then, that you were the Protector. But Narnia's darkest hour was many centuries away. I decided, then, that you would be taken into the world of men to grow up there and be returned to Narnia when the time was right."

Angela bit her lip and Peter could see her struggling to take it in.

"I don't remember anything before I turned four."

"Your memories of your early life here are still there in your mind, although faint. You know this; you felt it when you looked at these carvings." Aslan gestured with a great claw and Peter turned to look at the last of the pictures.

"The baby is you, Angela. You were taken and put into the care of those who had been to Narnia, who could nurture you and prepare you for the battles ahead."

Angela was shaking her head.

"Those who had been to Narnia? What do you mean?"

Something was dawning in Peter's mind.

"What did you say your Aunt's name was?"

"I didn't'" replied Angela, turning to face him. "Her name was Polly. Polly Plummer"

"And where did you say you worked before you came to work for me?"

"In a school, Experiment House. And before that I worked in a country home for a Professor. Well, for his housekeeper. Why?" She looked at him curiously.

"The Friends of Narnia," Peter murmured to himself. "And then you came to me." He looked at her almost fondly and she raised her eyebrows at him; his mind was racing. She was _Narnian_. Of course she was. Looking at her now, he could hardly believe he hadn't thought of it before. How could he not have guessed? But one thing still bothered him

"But Aslan, I took her hand, on the platform, I-"

"Had you not taken her hand, Son of Adam, you would not be here yourself."

Peter's shoulders sagged in relief. The guilt of bringing her here, into this war, had been overtaking him. And now he knew that she would have come anyway; with or without him, this had been _her _battle.

"Come" said Aslan. "Your subjects are awaiting you, Queen Angela."

Peter offered Angela his arm and she took his elbow, limping gingerly after Aslan's retreating form. Queen Angela. Narnia had been waiting for her, not for him. Peter felt a sense of resignation as he realised he would be going home yet again. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and tightened his grip.

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	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 people. It's been an interesting journey! I really hoped you guys enjoyed reading this. :)**

Angela stared at herself in the mirror. She had finally been wrestled out of her breeches and shirt and into a dress. It was lovely, she had to admit; midnight blue silk with fine silver embroidery, exposed shoulders and silver jewellery at her throat, the whole look set off by her red hair which the Naiads had freed from its plaits and left long down her back. If she had ever attended a ball in her real life she would have chosen something like this. She fingered one of the curls that hung almost to her waist. It had been so long since she'd worn her hair like this she hadn't realised quite how long it had got.

She took a couple of deep breaths and steeled herself. She had almost got over the shock of the revelation about her parentage, and a part of her could not wait until she had a free moment to explore the library and find out about them. But her coronation was to be this evening and there would be a ball afterwards. For now, she had to think of others. Urnus had stolen her away for an hour that afternoon to run her through some basic protocol. She made a mental note to take especial care over the faun; he had seen her worry and done his best to make her feel more confident about tonight. Trumpkin would need to be honoured for his services to Narnia. Peereep should be knighted. The rest of her people should be given the chance to see someone on their throne again. Her desires could wait.

Her thoughts strayed back to Peter. It had been two days since the battle and she could see him looking more defeated by the hour. As every minute passed she felt more like the Queen of Narnia, and he looked less like a King. She knew he felt terrible about his misjudgement of the recent events; but really, who could blame him? Everyone had believed he would be Narnia's saviour and he had done his best. Angela felt a sudden need to see him. She threw open the door to her room and hurried along the hallway.

Arriving at Peter's room, she was surprised to hear voices coming from within. The door was open a crack and as she peered through she could see Peter standing on the balcony, staring out over the sea.

"You're sending me back again aren't you?" he said. Angela couldn't see who he was talking to but her curiosity was answered as she heard his companion's reply.

"Would that be such a bad thing?" the low voice rumbled, and Angela saw Aslan come into view, moving closer.

Peter turned to look fully at the lion's face.

"No. I suppose it wouldn't. I could make a life for myself in my own world". That was why he had been so miserable. He thought Aslan would be sending him away from Narnia yet again. Angela felt her heart judder at the thought that he might be going back to their own world. _His _own world, she corrected herself; it was not really hers.

"Peter. If you want to stay here, you need only ask."

Peter stared at Aslan and his look of shock quickly turned to anger.

"I only need to _ask_? Do you know how many times I've wanted to be here over the years? How much I was _longing_ to be here? And now you're telling me I could have stayed here last time? If I'd only _asked?_"

"Peter, the decision to stay here, to leave your own world behind, is not one to be taken lightly. I could not let a boy make a man's decision. But now you are a man; you have had the opportunity to grow up in your own world. Where you choose to remain is a decision for you, and for you alone."

Peter's anger deflated as quickly as it had arisen and he nodded, gazing back out to the sea. Aslan turned towards the door and paused next to Angela. He looked deep into her eyes as he spoke once more.

"After the ball I will be waiting on the beach. If you wish to return to the World of Men you will meet me there. I will leave you to make your decision, Peter."

Peter glanced back over his shoulder at Aslan and started at the sight of Angela walking into his room. Angela saw him taking her in and his eyes stray to the ends of her hair. She made her way to his side and stood next to him in silence.

"Are you going back to London?" she asked him quietly

"I don't know." He gave her a searching look. "What do _you_ think I should do?"

Angela contemplated him for a long moment. She had butterflies in her stomach and she couldn't seem to look away from him. His eyes were boring into hers and she swallowed nervously; she had never realised quite how _blue_ his eyes were, or how his hair gave him a boyish look that she might have described as sweet if she was given to such foolish thoughts. His hand made a slight twitching movement towards hers and then without knowing why she tugged the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her and covering his lips with hers. _I can't believe I'm doing this. With _him_ of all people! _She felt his hands on her waist and suddenly she was pressed hard against his chest and he was kissing her as though he never wanted to let her go.

He broke off abruptly and drew her into a tight hug. She could feel the pounding of his heart and his laboured breathing.

"Please don't leave me" she whispered into his shirt. His grip tightened and she felt him bury his lips in her hair.

"I don't think I could."

* * *

Later that night, the ball was over and the revelries were finally coming to an end. Narnians were still dancing and singing in the courtyard and some of those worse for wear were being helped to their beds. Aslan sat on the beach listening to the soft, peaceful ebb and flow of the tide. He was alone, and knew no matter how long he stayed at this spot he would remain so. Satisfied, he raised his head to the heavens and began to think of where he would be needed next.


End file.
